The Concience of the King Afterwards
by MarillaT'Pel
Summary: My thoughts on what Kirk may have been thinking after the events of the episode.  I own nothing.


I've chosen to begin my stay here with a dose of angst. This is something that's bugged me for a long time and I just had to get it out of my head. I own no part of Star Trek.

The Conscience of the King Afterwards

James T. Kirk sat at the table in his quarters, a cup of coffee in his hands. It was really too late for anything with caffeine in it, but its warmth and aroma had always been a source of comfort to him. Besides, there could be no sleep for him tonight. In the past few days, he'd discovered the continuing existence of a man he'd been perfectly content to believe was dead. And now, he really was dead, once and for all. All Jim could do now was stare at his coffee. He knew there were things he needed to do, ships business he'd put off during his personal mission to find the truth. And he'd certainly have quite a bit to answer for. He'd invited a group of strangers aboard his ship, knowing full well the possibility that one of them might be a killer. He'd almost gotten Kevin Riley killed. He'd broken a lot of rules for a personal reason, and that was unacceptable behavior for an officer of his rank and reputation. He was dragged out of his thoughts by a chime at the door. He frowned. He'd already deflected all Bone's attempts to talk about it. So, there was really only one other person it could be. "Come."

The door opened to reveal Spock, standing, as always, ramrod straight with his hands clasped behind his back. He stepped inside, and the door hissed shut behind him. He spoke without hesitation.

"Considering the events of the past few days, I do not believe a caffeinated beverage is appropriate." Jim couldn't help but smile slightly at the friendly reprimand.

"That's true, but it was either this or a bottle of Scotty's finest, and I don't think I'd make a very pleasant drunk right now." Spock appeared to consider this, but did not comment. Instead, he said,

"I have observed, and been informed many times that it is considered rude to humans when one friend does not offer to assist in some way when another is in distress."

Jim couldn't help but smile slightly,

"Your information is correct Mr. Spock, but there's really nothing you can do."

"I have also observed that talking about traumatic events and the emotions surrounding them can be therapeutic and help to lessen emotional pain." Spock continued. Jim sighed.

"How can I tell you how I feel? I don't know myself." Spock raised one eyebrow. It was a gesture that had many different meanings, and right now it meant he was confused.

"Humans place great value on emotion, and always seem so aware of it." Jim looked up from his coffee at his friend.

"You think so? Well, we can get just as confused by an emotional response as Vulcan's." He got the confusion eyebrow again.

"I find it unlikely that a race that holds such regard for emotional expression could become so confused about them."

"It's pretty easy when they feel emotions that conflict with one another. Especially when the sources of the conflicting emotions are themselves in conflict." Jim replied. More confusion from Spock.

"What conflict could there be? A man who caused you significant emotional trauma in your childhood is dead. Were I human, I would likely feel relieved, liberated, perhaps even vindicated." Jim nodded a bit.

"I do feel that, in part. This was a man who condemned me along with half a colony to death. Want to know why he picked me? My being prone to allergic reactions. His reasoning? He couldn't use precious resources trying to figure out what foods or medications I could handle." Spock said nothing. He knew well that Jim's allergies had always been a source of frustration to him, but this information put it into new perspective. Jim continued, oblivious to his friend's thoughts.

"I was perfectly happy, believing that he'd burned to death, that he suffered when he died. When Thomas first told me he was alive, I couldn't let myself believe it. Even after Thomas died, and I decided to investigate, I still didn't want to believe." Jim paused. "Then, when I knew in my heart that it was him, and tried to get him to admit who he was, he tried to defend his actions, suggesting that people might view his actions more positively if help never came. I was angry about that, but at the same time, I couldn't help but pity him, at least a little. He seemed so old and broken down. Like he had been running for years from something, and was too tired to keep running, and it finally caught him. If I hadn't known by then who he was, I would have only seen what he became after Tarsus, just a man. A dedicated actor and loving father. But you want to know the most conflicting thing of all?" He looked right into Spock's eyes. "He saved me. Lenore didn't miss me when she fired. She was aiming right at me, and he stepped in front of me and took the shot." He slumped down in his seat. Spock did hesitate this time, for a moment, before offering,

"Perhaps he did not think she would fire at him, but did not consider that she was as close to firing as she was." Jim sighed.

"Maybe, but that doesn't change the fact that he didn't want me to die. Or, at least, he didn't want her to ruin her life by killing me. I think though, in the end, he really did regret all of it. That if he'd known then, what he did years later, he would have acted differently. He told her that he never wanted her to be touched by the things he'd done." He paused again, and then looked back up at Spock, a small, joyless smile on his face.

"So, to sum it up, a man condemns four thousand 'inferior' men women and children to death. Twenty years later, he sacrifices himself to save the life of one of those very people, and any possible reason for him to do it is as selfless as another. Tell me, what do you think I am supposed to be feeling right now?" Spock gazed right back at his friend. Jim had learned in their time together how to read his very subtle expressions. And right now, he saw a mix of pity, and helplessness.

"I regret to say that I cannot tell you." Jim smiled again, with a little warmth this time.

"I didn't think you could," He said quietly, "but thanks for listening." He stood up, stretching his protesting legs. Spock stood back a bit, knowing he was about to be politely dismissed. Jim's coffee was cold by now, but he took another swallow. Spock noted this, and another thing dawned on him; Jim's inability to leave food or drink unfinished was an aftereffect of his time on Tarsus. He couldn't help but wonder what other aspects of Jim's personality could be attributed to Tarsus IV. Jim smiled a bit again.

"Well, Spock, there's no reason for us both to lose sleep. I'll see you tomorrow on the bridge." Spock nodded.

"Goodnight, Jim." He glanced back just before the doors closed again, to see his captain seating himself at his desk, cold mug of coffee in hand. He headed back to his own quarters. Once inside, he lit his candles for meditation. No matter what he did, though, his mind kept drifting back to Jim. He had felt helpless in the face of human emotion before, when his mother had tried to hold back tears as he departed his home on Vulcan for Starfleet, or when Leila Kalomi had learned that her love for him was unreciprocated. But this was different. He'd never encountered a human who was at a loss about how to feel. He could only continue to offer support and friendship, as Jim had done for him in the past, and hope that Jim knew he had friends he could turn to if he chose to do so.

Back in his quarters, the captain of the Enterprise tried to make use of his restlessness by catching up on his work. Even though he still couldn't sleep, he did feel a little better after talking to Spock. If there was one thing he could be certain of, it was that even if he chose fight his demons alone, his friends would still be there at an arm's length, ready to help if he asked.

All I want for Christmas is a good review!


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